


Being Good

by karanguni



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/pseuds/karanguni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'My family history is quite straightforward. Nothing tragic; quite the opposite. My father did well for himself. My mother is American. Put the two together and you end up with a blond son who has enough money to drive a sports car and play Go for a living.' Ogata reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and takes out a packet of cigarettes. He taps one out and lights up, offering the package to Isumi as he does so. When Isumi declines, Ogata asks, 'What about you?'</p><p>'Much the same,' Isumi says. 'Except that my family isn't rich and my mother isn't American.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ver (verloren1983)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verloren1983/gifts).



The year Isumi turns 19, Shindou decides that it is his sworn duty to turn Japan's international team into something less of a joke.

'Are you kidding me,' he'd fumed the day that Morishita-sensei, in a moment of exceptionally finite wisdom, enlightened him about how well -- or badly -- Japanese Go representatives performed when on the world stage. 'Do we _ever_ win?'

'Sometimes, in the first round,' Waya'd shrugged carelessly in response. 'Maybe. It's possible, I guess.'

Shindou'd pointed at Waya. 'Go onto the Ki-in's website, I want statistics.'

'Why can't you learn to _use technology_ ,' Waya'd complained, but withdrew his cellphone anyway and navigated for Shindou. 'Here.'

Five minutes later, Shindou'd thrown Waya's phone onto the ground ("SHINDOU!") and spun around, spitting furious. 'Yamashita-san and Cho-U _and_ even _Iyama Yu_ _uta_ can't get past to the _quarter-finals_ of the Shunran Cup? For three years in a row? We've got to get better,' he said, with the sort of look in his eyes that usually only appeared when Touya came up in conversation. 'We're _going_ to get better.'

'Very good,' Morishita-sensei'd said approvingly.

'Oh crap,' said Waya, summing up everyone else's mood.

After that, Shindou's idea of a good time becomes hounding Isumi for lessons in Korean on the weekends.

'I'm not actually good enough to teach you anything,' Isumi told Shindou apologetically when the subject first came up. He'd been picking Korean up to complement what Chinese he had, figuring that it would come in useful one day, but he was still was far from fluent.

'It doesn't matter, we can be conversation partners,' Shindou said dismissively, and for a while Isumi was worried that he'd take to the language the same way he'd taken to Go.

Reality turns out to be quite different.

'How are you so, so...' Isumi asks Shindou, just barely managing to stop himself off from saying something incredibly rude about Shindou's idea of good handwriting. 'This is... really not all that legible, Shindou.'

'Who cares?' Shindou asks, throwing his hands up in the air. 'I want to learn _speak_ Korean, not how to write it!'

'The two are related,' Isumi says, wondering for not the first time how someone so good at a game like Go could be so utterly useless at real life. 'You'd be illiterate by definition otherwise.'

'I can barely pass my _Japanese_ classes,' Shindou sighs, drooping in his seat. 'Can't we just go to that scary Korean salon and kick some ass?'

'Okay,' Isumi relents, because it _would_ make good practice.

'This was a terrible idea,' Isumi whispers urgently to Shindou an hour later, watching in horror as Hong Su-yeong stares at the _goban_ in front of him with a look promising murder. Painful murder. 'Did you have to play that aggressively?' he asks.

'I wouldn't _play dumb_ against someone, much less against Su-yeong,' Shindou hisses back, affronted.

Isumi is unconvinced. 'Yes, but do you always beat your opponents by this many _moku?'_

'Maybe?' Shindou tries.

' _One day, I'm going to crush you like a bug,'_ Su-yeong says solemnly, mostly to the _goban,_ but also to Shindou. ' _Crush you underfoot.'_ '

'Look!' Shindou beams. 'We're totally practicing Korean. What did he say?'

Isumi puts his face in his hands.

To make it up to him, Hikaru takes Isumi to Touya Akira’s now-legendary Go parlour that Sunday. It’s Hikaru’s idea of a great time — Go! Touya! Touya! Go! — but Isumi finds his own experience there somewhat harrying.  
  
'You should be happier!' Shindou reproaches him as he blows right past the polite lady receptionist and to the back, where Touya is already waiting. 'It's not like people get to just play Touya whenever they want, you know.'

'You do,' Isumi points out, but Shindou ignores him. He sighs. Watching Shindou playing Go around Touya requires a level of intensity which makes Isumi uncomfortable. His own Go is steady and measured; he likes and knows how to work with the constant ebb and flow of good and bad moves. That kind of a style is nothing like Shindou's quicksilver intelligence and occasionally harrowing bravado, nor does it resemble Touya Akira's crushing, methodical logic. When the two of them are in the same room together Isumi finds it a little hard to breathe. They're so _young._  
  
The other thing is that the two of them can't seem to pay attention to anything or anyone else when they're together. Even Touya, who's nothing but deferentially polite to Isumi, forgets himself when he -- inevitably -- ends up arguing with Shindou about this _fuseki_ or that _atari._ Everyone else is just a useful, Go-playing but ultimately uninteresting third wheel.  
  
Naturally, Isumi ends up sitting there after one game with Touya (Isumi loses), listening as Shindou fights the other boy (ostensibly on his behalf) in a bout of verbal warfare disguised as a post-game discussion. They probably don't even remember he's there.

'Oh my _god_ , Touya, it's not like _everyone_ tries to read 30 moves ahead during a practice game, give us a break!'

'How do you expect to improve if you don't take practice games seriously? You weren't even playing! In any case, look at that battle in the upper left corner --'

'Isumi-san, won't you _say something_ about this crazy interpretation? Touya, that's not a battle, it's a diversionary play.'

'Do you even know what the word "diversionary" means, Shindou?'

Isumi watches them, observing the familiarity and openness Shindou and Touya display around each other, and wonders abruptly if they're together; actually a _pair_. It's certainly possible. It may even have been probable, in a less conservative world. He looks down and away, feeling a stab of old fear before a flood of jealousy settles at the bottom of his stomach. What he's jealous of -- their talent, their rivalry, their futures -- Isumi can't be sure. What he does know is that he's not like either Shindou Hikaru or Touya Akira; he'll never be their kind of people.

 

* * *

 

The year Isumi turns 19, he spends three solid nights doing something that isn't Go: he turns on his computer and, in a private browser window, searches for gay bars around Tokyo. He'll be 20 next year and fully an adult; even if he never comes out, Isumi thinks that he wants to try being in a place where he can be  _really_ himself while he's still (technically) an adolescent. It seems the right thing to do, somehow.

The tricky part is finding a place that's classy enough not to be just some grindfest of a club but that's low-town enough that it won't involve him getting carded. Isumi's not even sure if they even card at gay bars; he doesn't really know if they card at _bar_ -bars, after all. It's just one more thing he doesn't know about life outside of Go, and Isumi's found that he's tired of living in fear and self-reproach.

Eventually, he just scribbles down the addresses of a bunch of places in and around Shinjuku 2-chome, tells his parents that he's going to be staying over at Waya's, packs a small backpack and leaves, heart thumping so hard in his chest he's absurdly worried that his parents will somehow hear it and _know_.

Ironically, he gets mail from Waya while he's on the subway headed out: _Wanna play tonight?_

The language, in context, makes Isumi want to laugh and laugh. He's almost giddy when he sends back, quite honestly, _No. See you tomorrow._

The whole thing turns out to be at once more normal and stranger than Isumi expects it to be. He turns up at the first place on his list, a moderately loud but sleek little number of a bar tucked away on the top floor of a compact building, only to find that there's no bouncer or anyone at the entrance. He cautiously makes his way to the bar, where a few other men are already seated, and seats himself at the far corner, back safely pressed up against the wall.

The bartender comes over.  'You're new here,' he observes.

'Yeah,' Isumi says, wondering if this is when he gets kicked out.

'Well, make yourself at home,' the bartender says instead. 'And,' he adds, clearly reading something off of Isumi's body language, 'let me know if anything or anyone bothers you, all right?'

'Sure thing,' Isumi nods, relieved.

'What will it be?'

'Just,' Isumi fumbles, thinking back to the list of drinks he'd researched online, 'a rum and coke, please.'

'Coming right up.'

While the bartender is seeing to his drink, Isumi takes a moment to scout out the room. There are a few salarymen -- friends? surely not co-workers? -- in a booth, drinking copious amounts of beer. They look astonishingly normal. A lot of people are standing and talking around cocktail tables; some are foreigners, some are girls, some are dressed in rather tight clothing. Most just seem like men out to socialise. They're all a little older than Isumi, and they look - at home, he supposes.

'Rum and coke,' the bartender breaks Isumi's line of thought, putting the drink in front of him. '600 yen, please.' While Isumi's digging in his wallet, the bartender tells him, 'If you want my advice? Don't sit here in the corner all night.' He takes Isumi's cash and melts away once more.

Isumi takes a fortifying sip of his drink and a deep breath, then gets up.  
  
He doesn't get thrown out of that bar, nor does anyone try to come on to him in any way that makes him uncomfortable, nor do his parents find out, nor does anything change, really. For a week afterwards he half-expects someone, anyone -- even Ochi -- to _know_ , but they say nothing, and life goes on. An old knot in Isumi's chest slowly fades away as he realises that nothing is going to be different.  
  
He ends up on a few more "nights at Waya's." Sometimes Isumi goes to clubs, where the music is loud and the people are friendly. He goes home or to love hotels with a few men, and - to his mild surprise - finds it easier every time. Mostly, though, Isumi finds himself back at that first bar, chatting with the bartender or a few of the slightly older guys who are slowly but surely becoming his friends.  
  
There are times when, the day after, Isumi sits in the Ki-in and feels completely out of place, like there are two parts of his life that don't cohere at all. It's not as bad as it sounds: he's happy to have his Go completely separated from whatever it is that's going on in his personal life. Life is complicated, but it isn't terrible.

 

* * *

  
  
The year Isumi turns 19, an older gentlemen, who's dressed in a suit that looks the farthest thing from the off-the-rack pieces that typical salarymen wear, comes up to him while he's at his usual seat at the bar. It makes Isumi automatically wary. Well-dressed people usually come with baggage.  
  
'Hello,' says the older man. 'I see you around here often, and thought I'd come over to say hello.'  
  
'Hello,' Isumi responds, cautious.  
  
'My name is Rin,' the older man goes on, completely unperturbed by Isumi's less-than-warm reception. Isumi gets the impression that he's not the kind of man that is easily put off. He reaches down into an expensive-looking suitcase and pulls out a newspaper. It's the latest Mainichi Shinbun, with coverage from the latest Gosei match that's being played between Ogata-sensei and Touya Akira. 'I thought I recognised you from somewhere when I read this article, and then I realised.' The man taps the accompanying photograph. It was clearly taken during the postgame discussion; Touya looks stone-faced but pleased and Ogata-sensei looks mildly furious. Isumi spots himself in the background, where he'd been helping with the _kifu_.

'Ah,' he says, feeling vaguely ill at having been recognised.  
  
'Oh, please don't look like that,' Rin-san says, folding the newspaper back up immediately. 'I'm just a great fan of Go, and you don't find too many people here who enjoy the game.' He smiles at Isumi, and it seems genuine.  
  
'Nice to meet you,' Isumi says, belatedly. 'My name's Isumi.'

As it turns out, Rin-san is actually a excellent conversationalist, and more than passingly familiar with Go. Isumi feels a little bad that he'd had his hackles up. They get around to talking about the state of Go in Japan, and Isumi can't help but vent a little bit about Hikaru's latest venture.

'He comes to study sessions,' Isumi says, on the third glass of some very expensive amber liquid that Rin-san has been supplying him with, 'and insists on sticking notes with the Korean names of things on _everything_. On the goban, the goke; nothing's sacred.'

'Is he making any progress?' Rin-san asks, amused.

'Maybe?' Isumi says. 'I'm not good enough myself to really tell. He's got the basics, I suppose.'

' _Well, we could always practice together_ ,' Rin-san says in perfect Korean, and Isumi actually stares at him for a moment before piecing it all together.

' _I'm sorry; I thought you were Japanese.'_

 _'I_ am _Japanese,'_ Rin-san says peaceably, and that makes Isumi feel three times worse. ' _My family is Korean, but I was born and raised here.'_

 _'I'm sorry,'_ Isumi apologises, wincing at his faux pas. Maybe Shindou's not the only one who's bad at real life.

' _Don't be_ ,' Rin-san says. ' _I've been very successful, which helps. Here, my card.'_ He slides a slick looking business card over the counter to Isumi. Terrifyingly but predictably, his title is listed as  _President_. ' _Let's meet up again sometime.'_

He gives Isumi a short wave and leaves. Isumi takes the card, and after a moment of consideration punches the number into his phone. In a strange way, Rin-san reminds him of Ogata-sensei: unfailingly polite and very measured, but definitely capable of ruining someone's day when in a bad mood. As far as friends? fellow gay men? contacts? go, Isumi can't see it being a bad thing, knowing people like Rin-san.

 

* * *

 

They go out a number of times, and each time Rin-san is scrupulously polite towards Isumi and full of propriety. It's actually frustrating: the longer they know each other, the more Isumi finds that he's mildly attracted to the older man. He doesn't quite understand where any of this is going, especially since Rin also insists on paying every time. Isumi feels obligated, finally, to ask him directly. 'I don't want to be impolite or forward,' he says one night as they sit at a table in Rin-san's choice of expensive restaurant of the month. 'But why  _are_ you keeping company with me? I'm just a young Go pro.'

Rin-san carefully sets his chopsticks down so that he can talk properly. 'Because you're interesting, Isumi-kun.'

'You spend thousands of yen on me every time we meet because I'm _interesting_ ,' Isumi says, sceptical. That isn't really how the story goes, usually.

'I do,' Rin-san nods. 'You _are_ young and you _are_ a Go professional _and_ you are, in the closet though you may be, gay. It's hard for men like myself to meet genuinely interesting individuals like yourself, especially with this kind of an age gap. So here we are.' He spreads his hands. 'It's transactional, if you want to look at it that way: I spend a little yen on you, you spend a little time with me.'

'So,' Isumi says slowly, 'I'm like an escort service.'

'Like _any_ service. Really, it's a little bit of both yes and no,' Rin-san says. 'You and I are engaged in a service-based relationship. We each get something out of it, and sleep better at night for it. Am I wrong?'

'No,' Isumi says, feeling naive. What Rin-san says makes a lot of sense. 'But it sounds rather cold.'

'All relationships, romantic or platonic, are ultimately founded on what one party can do for the other,' Rin-san shrugs. 'Isn't that how it is in the Go world, too?'

Isumi thinks about Shindou, who'd barrelled into Morishita's study group and who now hounds him for Korean lessons every Sunday. 'Hm,' he says, thoughtful.

'Come on,' Rin-san says beatifically, gesturing at the food. 'Eat up. I want to take you somewhere special after this.'

 

* * *

 

"Somewhere special" turns out to be a sort of _gentleman's_ gentleman's club, where Rin-san has to sign Isumi in and Isumi himself has to sign some non-disclosure waiver at the door. Everything, from the décor to the paper the forms are printed on, looks like it costs some very rich people a lot of money. A sort of passive-aggressive but very well dressed man at the counter watches them like hawks at they finish up the paperwork.  
  
'It's procedure here,' Rin-san says, a little apologetically. 'But it also means that this is one of the few places where people can really sit back and not worry about who's watching.'  
  
It turns out that Rin-san really isn't joking: within a minute of entering the club (more a tastefully decorated lounge modelled on something out of English history), Isumi's recognised at least two celebrities and a news anchor.  
  
'I never realised,' he murmurs to Rin-san, who turns to him with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
'More of us than you'd imagined, Isumi-kun?'  
  
'Yes,' Isumi agrees, then stops short as he spots a familiar figure. 'Oh,' he says to himself, a little stunned.  
  
Rin-san follows Isumi's line of sight. 'Oh my,' he says when he realises that it's Ogata-sensei on the other side of the room, talking idly in English with some blond-haired foreigner. Rin-san obviously knows who he is, because he says to Isumi, 'Not who I was expecting to see this time of day.'  
  
'I,' Isumi opens his mouth, then shuts it again. 'I guess I always had the impression that Ogata-sensei liked women,' is what he finally comes up with.  
  
'Oh, from what I hear he likes women all right,' Rin-san cackles. 'Maybe he's just run out of them.'  
  
'Rin-san,' Isumi says reproachfully, but he can't stop looking across the room. Ogata-sensei, Ogata-Jyuudan-Gosei is _here,_ in one of Tokyo's most exclusive gay clubs. Isumi feels like his entire world has just been turned upside down.  
  
Rin-san touches him on the shoulder, breaking Isumi's train of thought. 'Here,' he says, giving Isumi a small shove. 'Why don't you go say hello.'  
  
Isumi turns to look at him. 'You brought me here; I really wouldn't want to --' He catches the glint in Rin-san's eyes. 'You _want_ me to go talk to Ogata-sensei, don't you.'  
  
'Of course I do,' Rin-san said. 'This is the most entertaining thing I've witnessed in years. Does he know who you are?'  
  
'He gave me a lift in his car once. That's not a metaphor, Rin-san,' he sighs when Rin-san raises his eyebrows.  
  
'Well then, if he's so willing to chauffeur you around, I'm sure he'll be happy to... talk with you.'  
  
Isumi sighs. 'Fine,' he says, feeling like he's been set up. 'I'll go.'  
  
'Don't mind me,' Rin-san says, ushering Isumi on with a frightening amount of enthusiasm. 'We can have a post-mortem next time. Enjoy yourself.'

Isumi feels vaguely abandoned as he makes his way to the other side of the room. It doesn't take Ogata-sensei long to notice Isumi's approach; Isumi sees his eyes widen slightly, and then Ogata excuses himself politely from his conversation and comes over.  
  
'Well,' he says when he gets close enough, giving Isumi the once-over. 'This is unexpected.'  
  
Isumi answers the obvious but unspoken question in Ogata's voice. 'Rin-san,' he says, nodding back at where the Japanese-Korean man is clearly watching them, 'was kind enough to sign me in.'  
  
Ogata raises his eyebrows, evidently impressed. 'You keep some expensive company, Isumi-kun.'  
  
'Ah, well,' Isumi murmurs, dropping his eyes. 'It's not --' He sighs at his own awkwardness. 'Yes, I suppose I do.' For a moment, neither of them says anything. Then, in a fit of pique, Isumi looks up and says to Ogata, 'We should get a drink.'  
  
Ogata looks at him for a long while, and Isumi wonders if he has a problem with either the difference in their age or, frankly, talent at Go. If not for Shindou, Ogata would probably never have even learned Isumi's name: just one more _insei_ turned pro a little bit too late. Isumi's fingers are just about curling into a fist when Ogata says, 'We might as well,' and gestures at the bar.  
  
As it turns out, Ogata is a fan of expensive, strong liquors, and is surprisingly chatty by the time he's a drink in. Isumi'd never have pegged Ogata for the conversational sort, but maybe the setting has loosened his tongue. Isumi can admit to himself that he's more than a little curious about the Jyuudan.  
  
'I hope I'm not being rude,' Isumi says, 'but I always wondered about your family.'  
  
'You mean you've always wondered about why I'm blond,' Ogata says shrewedly, looking at Isumi from above the rims of his glasses. 'Nobody ever dares to ask; not even Shindou.'  
  
Isumi shrugs once. Ogata actually smiles. He's infuriatingly attractive, considering that he's also the man who once verbally crushed Touya Akira -- his own mentor's son -- in a published interview. Ogata says, 'My family history is quite straightforward. Nothing tragic; quite the opposite. My father did well for himself. My mother is American. Put the two together and you end up with a blond son who has enough money to drive a sports car and play Go for a living.' Ogata reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and takes out a packet of cigarettes. He taps one out and lights up, offering the package to Isumi as he does so. When Isumi declines, Ogata asks, 'What about you?'  
  
'Much the same,' Isumi says. 'Except that my family isn't rich and my mother isn't American.'  
  
Ogata stares at Isumi for a moment, blinking owlishly, then he starts laughing. 'Isumi-kun, I'm relieved,' he says. 'For a while I thought you didn't have a sense of humour.'  
  
Isumi chuckles and rolls the ice around his own glass. 'It's true, though. My family's firmly average, but I started playing Go and found by the end of high school that nothing else makes me as -- happy's not the right word. But nothing else interests me as much as Go, even though I'm not very good at it.'  
  
'How do you know that?' Ogata asks, blowing smoke across the bar.  
  
'What?' Isumi asks, startled.  
  
'How do you know,' Ogata repeats slowly, 'that you're not very good at Go?'  
  
'Speaking respectfully, Ogata-sensei,' Isumi says, 'by the time you were my age, you were 4-dan.'  
  
'Yes,' Ogata says reflectively. 'And I'd also been training under Touya-sensei for more than a decade. Akira started when he was two. When did you?'  
  
Isumi actually has to think about it. 'Maybe when I was nine or ten,' he says finally.  
  
'There you go,' Ogata says, taking a deep draw. 'You've barely begun. I highly doubt that someone who can convince Shindou Hikaru to play Go again is _not very good_.'  
  
Isumi feels like he's been backhandedly complimented. Ogata stubs his dying cigarette out into an ash tray and goes on. 'I feel I ought to thank you for that. Akira was, by his standards, distraught when Shindou stopped going to his matches. He moped for weeks.'  
  
'Do you think,' Isumi ventures, 'that they're...?'  
  
Ogata looks at him. 'You know,' he says, 'I'd never considered it. But now that you mention it...' He smiles, somewhat sinisterly. 'Maybe I'll drop a hint when I'm next around Akira.'  
  
They drink together in companionable silence for another few minutes. When Ogata finishes his scotch, he turns to Isumi. 'I'm going to offer you another lift,' he says. 'But perhaps not to your home this time.'  
  
Isumi doesn't have to think about it before he says, 'That's fine by me.'

 

* * *

   
The year Isumi turns 20, Ogata Jyuudan-Gosei takes him home in a red sports car. 'You'll have to pardon the apartment,' Ogata tells Isumi as he opens the door. 'I don't usually have guests.'  
  
Isumi doesn't care about how Ogata's apartment looks beyond making sure that they're nowhere near a fish tank when he pushes his hands under Ogata's blazer and leans in to kiss the older man. Isumi can feel the texture of Ogata's expensive cotton shirt under his fingers, and wonders for one hysterical moment if he'll ever good enough of a pro to warrant -- or afford -- the kind of suits that Ogata wears on a daily basis.  
  
'Stop thinking,' Ogata mutters to him. 'I can hear you ruminating.' He helps Isumi along by pressing wet kisses down the side of Isumi's neck, unexpectedly tender. Isumi responds by grasping at the buttons on Ogata's shirt, which finally give way to warm skin. Whatever the differences between Ogata and himself and however awkward this may make their future meetings at the Ki-in, it feels almost unbearably right to be doing this; as though in this moment all the different parts of Isumi's life are lining up and making sense.  
  
They make it, stumbling now and then as items of clothing come off, to Ogata's minimally decorated room. Ogata pushes Isumi onto the bed, then shimmies down to suck Isumi's cock. Isumi props himself up on his elbows to watch, mouth open and more aroused than he can remember ever being. He brushes the hair out of Ogata's eyes, and Ogata watches as Isumi watches him. He's good enough that it makes Isumi's toes curl. The older man pulls himself off a minute later with a slick noise and asks, 'What would you rather, top or bottom?'  
  
'Ogata-sensei,' Isumi pants, trying to regain some control, 'you've never struck me as a bottom.'  
  
Ogata laughs throatily and flips them over. 'I think,' he says as he reaches for a drawer in his nightstand, 'that, given the circumstances, you can just call me Ogata, or Seiji.' He takes out lubricant and tosses Isumi a condom.  
  
Isumi finds himself too distracted with rolling on the condom to reply. Ogata pours a generous amount of lubricant onto his own fingers; Isumi's mouth goes dry as he watches Ogata work himself open. He can't help but lean in to kiss the man.  
  
'Have you ever--?' Ogata grunts a minute later, collarbone arching up against Isumi's chest as he gets another finger in. I  
  
Isumi reaches down to assist, and as Ogata huffs out a surprised breath of air says, 'Maybe I haven't had practice fucking men for over a decade, but I think I'm good enough.'  
  
'You're a veritable comedian,' Ogata pants as Isumi pushes his hand away and replaces it with the tip of his cock. 'Come on,' Ogata commands. Isumi thrusts in, gently at first but then harder as Ogata grabs him by the back of the neck and _pulls_. Coherency becomes harder to hold on to as they start moving together; Ogata quiet but occasionally vocal beneath him and Isumi's own breath coming harder as he sets a wicked pace.  
  
'Not bad,' Ogata pants, biting down on Isumi's collarbone, and that makes what little is left of Isumi's self control go. He thrusts one final time into Ogata, who grunts slightly, then comes.  
  
'God,' he mutters to himself a moment later, when he can breathe properly again. He rolls off of Ogata, ties the condom and tosses it to the side. Ogata, still hard, is looking at him consideringly. Isumi doesn't let it bother him; he pushes Ogata back into the pillows and returns the favour from earlier.  
  
Ogata's cock is pleasantly large, and Isumi spends a few moments appreciatively licking around the head. 'Considerate, too, this one,' Ogata moans, letting his head roll back. Isumi smiles, then swallows Ogata down. He's always liked giving blow jobs, and this -- this makes him feel ridiculously empowered as he watches Ogata lean back and ride it out. Without his glasses on, Ogata looks open and slightly ruined.  
  
Isumi lets the head of Ogata's cock push up against the back of his throat; watches Ogata's mouth open slightly in reaction, watches Ogata unconsciously lift a hand to cup the back of his neck and press down. Isumi reaches behind Ogata with one hand and gently starts fingering the older man's entrance; small, teasing motions as he drags a nail across slicked up skin. Ogata groans out loud, an entirely gratifying noise. Isumi pushes a finger in at the same time that he sucks Ogata in deep; a moment later and he feels Ogata pulse against the back of his throat. Isumi swallows.  
  
They rearrange themselves into a more comfortable position, and spend a few companionable moments in silence. Isumi is propped up against Ogata's chest, head cradled against Ogata's left shoulder. The warmth of skin against skin just about lulls him to sleep when Ogata moves to reach for a packet of cigarettes.  
  
'Those will kill you one day,' Isumi murmurs, eyes closed, as Ogata lights up. 'Pass me one.' He can feel Ogata chuckle as the man hands him a stick and flicks the lighter open. Isumi breathes in deep, wordlessly content.  
  
Five minutes later, Ogata shifts again. Isumi opens his eyes as he hears the sound of a drawer opening. 'Are those,' he asks in mild disbelief, 'sheets of kifu paper in there with your lubricant?'  
  
'Ideas sometimes come in the middle of the night,' Ogata shrugged, completely unashamed. He thinks for a moment, then reaches for a sheet and a pen. 'Up for a game?' he asks Isumi.  
  
'We're completely different levels, Ogata-sensei,' Isumi says.  
  
'Just Ogata. And fine; you can record your moves on the kifu. I'll play blind.' Ogata hands him the paper and pen. Isumi would be lying if he said he didn't want to play, so he takes it and says, 'Shall I be black?'  
  
'Go ahead,' Ogata says, resettling back into position, closing his eyes and wrapping one arm around Isumi's waist. 'Start whenever you like.'  
  
So they play. It's a quiet but lovingly played game. Ogata's moves are beautiful and well-thought out; his style like a force of nature that, while less high octane than either Shindou's or Touya's, is more complete and lethal because of it. Isumi, laying back against Ogata in a cloud of smoke, can feel the callouses on the older man's fingers as Ogata drums them against his thigh. '17-7,' Ogata says after some consideration. And, 'When we're done, stay the night.'  
  
Isumi knows then, deep in his bones, that he'll very likely never be this good; but perhaps, he also thinks, perhaps he'll one day come close.


End file.
